


Blood Is Thicker Than Water

by TheGrayKittenOfCybertron



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: AU universe, Environment has elements from Earth, M/M, Master/Servant, Robots wearing clothes, and don't worry there are other pairings too, seems a bit old-fashioned but not exactly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrayKittenOfCybertron/pseuds/TheGrayKittenOfCybertron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By day, Tailgate is a hardworking maid on Lord Cyclonus's estate-- he cleans, looks over the other servants, and prepares his Master's hot drinks (all while being a bit clumsy at times). But by night, he must defend the estate and all who live there from an anonymous mech-- or die trying (unbeknownst from the rest of the staff, by the way).<br/>When the mech after Lord Cyclonus's life and the estate starts to show his true colors and become stronger, can Tailgate honestly keep up his role as protector of his friends and Master? Especially when certain events threaten to delve into Tailgate's checkered past? And what secrets does Lord Cyclonus so eagerly want to hide from him?</p><p>(Warnings inside)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Velle

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go! This was more of an idea that flitted through my mind that suddenly decided to grow and here we are! I hope you enjoy, this is my very first work on here! 
> 
> Warnings: Smut and mentions of violence. And Tailgate being a little clumsy bunny.
> 
> Edit: Fixed up a few errors, sorry about that!

_He remembered a servo reaching out to him, a tall figure silhouetted by the flickering light behind him._ This is it, _he thought._ My second chance at life.

_A blue visor tilted up to look into serious red optics, white servos clasping the outreached one. Ashes drifted all about them, like dark snow with an impure meaning and origin._

_“Tell me your name,” the figure rumbled in a deep, guttural voice. The figure helped the smaller mech up, and even standing, the figure was impossibly tall._

_“Tailgate,” said the small mech, voice much lighter than the other. “My name is Tailgate.”_

_The red optics narrowed. “I am Lord Cyclonus, and you, Tailgate, are to be at my side.”_

 

\--

 

The red rays of morning streaked into a dying night sky. One by one the stars faded to invisibility in the shreds of the coming day.

Tailgate’s visor slowly powered online, trying to escape the clutches of a too-pleasant sleep. Oversleeping would be severe. He had to prepare the coffee before the Master awakened and became cross. On this thought, he forced his vision online and inhaled deeply. Sitting up, he looked outside the large window by his bed and into the dawn.

“How pretty,” he said, removing the covers. “Is today going to be exciting?”

Tailgate hopped off the queen-sized bed and fixed up the covers, smoothing out as many wrinkles as he could. He touched his face, which till now he noticed felt rather sore, and felt his faceplate. Well no wonder.

After making his bed, the mech walked over to his closet and took out his cleanest uniform. Tailgate looked to the laundry bin beside the closet door containing his soiled clothes from days prior. Today would be a laundry day.

Slipping out of his nightclothes, he began to automatically put on the outfit. First the slip. Then the short sleeve blouse; tuck in with the frilly black skirt. Slide on the black vest and pull up the stockings. Slip in the apron and tie with the blue satin ribbon. Tailgate went over to his nightstand and got the last piece- a black choker with blue lace.

Pleased with himself, the maid looked himself over in the mirror on the door before officially beginning the day in Lord Cyclonus’ estate.

He walked briskly through the west wing of the mansion and downstairs to the kitchen, where Swerve was already mixing ingredients for today’s breakfast.

“Today it’s muffins,” The cook said. “Cranberry-orange, to be exact. Sweet, tangy and all fresh!” He said, raising his whisk, accidentally flicking some batter toward Tailgate. The maid hopped out of the way in time to avoid it.

“That sounds really good,” Tailgate replied. “Your cooking’s always fantastic!” Swerve chuckled.

“Well with the Master being real generous and all, why not give him some decent things to munch on? I mean, our bedrooms are huge! The beds feel like a dream! Who could ask for more?” And he started to madly stir the batter. “Gotta make sure he knows we’re grateful, y’know?”

The maid smiled under the faceplate. “Couldn’t word it better.”  

Once the coffee was on the stove, Tailgate went back upstairs to see if the Master was awake yet. The halls of the east wing were decorated with many paintings depicting war and gory mechs relentlessly ripping each other’s throats. Some depicted many angry Cybertronans  attacking a rather ugly-looking fellow.

However there was one painting—Tailgate’s favorite—the hung on the wall opposite the door to Lord Cyclonus’s room. This particular painting portrayed a beautiful Cybertronian sitting and gently touching sorrowful mech and femmes alike. Looking at the Cybertronian’s smile always made Tailgate’s spark swell with a loving feeling. Did the Master place the painting here to experience the same euphoria?

Tailgate knocked on the door three times, gently. “Lord Cyclonus,  are you awake?”

“Come in, Tailgate.”

The maid opened the door and there he was, looking over at the vast ocean from the balcony. Lord Cyclonus was dressed in a sharp, crisp suit. His horn and claws somehow exaggerated the suit.  As Tailgate stepped in, he wondered how he even heard his knocking, being so far from the door.

“The coffee is on the stove and Swerve is making –um—muffins right now,” Damn, he hated it when he stuttered whenever the Master looked at him. The said mech nodded.

“How does my schedule look today?”

Oh Primus. He had been so wrapped up in talking with Swerve and making the coffee perfect that he had completely forgotten to check the agenda in the main hall. Tailgate hung his head a little, servos behind his back.

“I’m really sorry my L—“

“Go check.”

“Yes, Master,” And he turned to leave when he heard an almost exasperated sigh from his Master.

“Oh Tailgate, will you ever learn?”

Confused and slightly scared, the maid turned around. His Master was holding up an apron Tailgate had worn the night before. With an embarrassed blush behind his mask, he took the apron from his Master’s servos.

“I’m sorry I left it here, Lord Cyclonus. I won’t forget it again.” Tailgate shuddered as the taller mech looked down at him.

“Check the schedule, Tailgate.”

“On it!” He said with a quick turn and a hurried gait through the east wing to the main hall mind focused on the podium with the open book containing all of his Lord’s appointments. He was in fact so focused that he forgot about the ruined apron he was still holding as he walked down the stairs. Once he was only a few feet away from the podium, his walk slowed then he reached up to touch his face, still sore from sleeping on his mask last night. The apron drooped when one of his arms let go, and Tailgate’s pede caught on the neckline, and tripped.

Tailgate outreached his free servo to try and catch himself on the podium, but instead tipped the podium over. In a whirlwind of adrenaline, impact on a hard floor and ink, Tailgate squeaked out an “Oh!”

On the floor, still a little shocked, the maid gave himself time to try and reassert himself before getting up. Once he did, he began to panic. He quickly lifted up the agenda the was quickly staining with the ink from the inkwell, the dark substance staining white servos and the previously clean apron Tailgate was wearing. As the ink dried, he looked for any pages that were still legible. The week and three days were gone, but the remainder of the month still existed.

The panic multiplied when he heard footsteps descending the stairs. Lord Cyclonus was going to throw him out the window. He quickly fixed up the podium and placed the inkwell, fountain pen and ruined agenda back as best as he could. Then he tried to mop up the spilled ink on the floor with the dirty apron he was holding.

Lord Cyclonus was close to the end of the stairs when he saw Tailgate frantically scrubbing at the floor. Then his gaze averted to the black-splotched book on the podium.

“Tailgate.”

Oh dear.

“Explain what happened.”

Tailgate slowly stood up and turned around, feeling as small as an atom in the shadow of his Master, clutching the indigo-black apron. “I-I tripped and the podium fell and the ink got everywhere and I’m just really sorry my Lord,” Tailgate stuttered out, visor flickering in submission as Lord Cyclonus came up before him. The maid shuddered.

The suited mech reached over behind Tailgate and took the book off of the podium, studying the pages which were rendered illegible. Lord Cyclonus sighed and Tailgate flinched.

I’m very sorry,” Tailgate whispered, his grip on the apron tightened as he forced himself to look as his Master.

The Master closed his optics and closed the agenda. “I suppose my schedule is clear for the next few days.” He opened his optics and looked down at the embarrassed maid. “Right Tailgate?”

He could’ve sworn he saw something mischievous flicker through those red optics, but his lips were still. “Yes sir,” came the tiny reply.

Lord Cyclonus walked around Tailgate and set the book back on the podium, backside toward the maid. “Good. That means I have some time to myself for a little while.” He turned his head slightly and Tailgate almost felt the presence of a smile. Although confused, the little maid was grateful for the major lack of temper from the taller mech.

“Go clean yourself up, Tailgate, and tell the others that I would like to invite them to breakfast.” And with a fluid turn, he went into the dining room, leaving Tailgate alone and still clutching the apron.

"Oh?” Tailgate said as the words finally hit him. “Oh I see!” He said as he rushed upstairs to throw the two dirty aprons in the laundry basket in his room in the west wing and tie on a new one. Then he rushed to the opposite wing. There he knocked on a door gently three times. He wasn’t in there. He probably fell asleep in the library again.

Another three gentle knocks and a small voice woke a disheveled Rung from the couch. “Yes? Uh, you can come in!” He said as he tried freeing himself from the blanket of open books and rearranged his glasses as Tailgate opened the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Rung,” he said cheerily. “I just wanted to let you know that the Master’s invited all of us to breakfast with him.” Rung stood up after shuffling all the books beside him and yawned.

 “Right then,” he said after a long stretch. “What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know,” Tailgate replied. “I accidentally ruined his schedule for the next couple of days and he suddenly told me that he wanted all of us to eat with him. Maybe we caught him on a good day?” Rung nodded and straightened his blouse. “He’s been looking for a time away from some of his appointments for a while now, maybe this is his way of celebrating the small vacation,” he said as Tailgate listened with very relieved audios. With Rung being Lord Cyclonus’s personal physician, psychiatrist and long-time family friend, he often dropped little hints with the Master’s behavior for the day usually as a warning to the other servants of the estate.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hold you up. I’ll be down there in just a few seconds.”

The maid nodded and went down to the cellar toward the back of the mansion to call Whirl, the other maid. Tailgate often wondered why the mech opted for a maid but as he looked down at his own attire, he never asked. And Whirl did have a few… reasons… to take residence on Lord Cyclonus’s estate—even if it meant dealing with outbursts and derogatory speech from the mech.

The small bot didn’t even have to open his mouth when he heard a loud, “YES. I AM ON MY WAY YOU LITTLE SLAGGER, YA DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME TWICE SO SHUT IT.” To which he shrugged and went to the front gardens where Chromedome was observing the branch of an orange tree from a ladder.

“Hello, Chomedome!” Tailgate called out from the main door. The orange bot looked in his direction.

 “Hello, Tailgate, what brings you out here?” he called back.

“The Master’s invited us all to breakfast with him!”

“He has?” Chromedome ducked his head from under a branch.

“Yes! Come on!” Tailgate replied with a smile. But it was wiped away from his face when he heard an unholy thud and saw Chromedome on the floor. “Chromedome?”

“I’ll be there, you go on ahead!” And with a worried glance, the maid went back inside and into the dining room, where Swerve was bringing out his baked goods and Whirl—by Primus, what on Cybertron—wearing an obnoxious pink dress that he didn’t bother putting his chest guns in. Tailgate stood there in brief shock as the pink-clad mech set the table. Then he averted his gaze at the head of the table where Lord Cyclonus was sitting comfortably. Behind him, he heard the shuffling noises of Chromedome coming this way. The maid took a seat across from a still groggy Rung and gawked at the delicious smelling muffins and scones. There was even fresh orange juice, bless that Chromedome.

The coffee Tailgate had made was still thankfully steaming hot, served by Swerve, the cream and sugar nearby the Master. The cook sat excitedly next to the maid while Chromedome and Whirl sat on the opposite side.

“Now that everyone is here, we can eat.” Lord Cyclonus stated, optics amused but lips a straight line. Everyone passed around the muffin plate and began to eat and start small chatter with each other. Removing his faceplate and taking a bite out of the savory and tangy muffin, the maid noticed that his Master had been staring at him.

 

\--

 

After breakfast, Tailgate and Whirl started to clean up around the mansion.

The Master was sitting in the garden with a book in hand, his optics sorely focused on the words of the book. Tailgate quietly observed him from a window in the parlor, where he was dusting some shelves of day-old dust. Whirl was sweeping away in his bright pink attire. The room didn’t actually need any more cleaning than it already received yesterday and the day before yesterday. No one really came to the estate. Even if they did, it was all strictly business and they were usually ushered out in under two hours, four if Lord Cyclonus was actually interested with what a visitor had to say. But other than that there were no parties, no banquets and no general friendly visits from anyone. And somehow the staff at the estate kept themselves busy and from boredom.

“Hey! Quit starin’ out the window and help me out over here!” Whirl snapped. Tailgate’s gaze broke away from the Master and helped him move a loveseat out of the way so Whirl could sweep for dust bunnies and keep them as his new pets. The blue-visored maid looked out of the window again and past Lord Cyclonus, at the ocean beyond.

“Is today going to be exciting?” He whispered to himself. He wasn’t particularly bored with the cleaning, but he was definitely waiting.

 

\--

 

 When the estate was cleaned from roof, to cellar, to gate, the afternoon was already halfway down it’s descent into darkness. The stars were eager to relinquish their invisible cloaks as Tailgate finished cleaning his own laundry, mending tears and other fixings on his uniforms. His stomach growled a little at him but he paid it no mind. The staff and Lord Cyclonus rarely had dinner and if they did, it was only in the presence of another guest or any other special occasion. He set his last fixed skirt down when his comm. went off.

“Tailgate, come to my study.” Came the command from the other end. The maid did as he was told and made his way into the east wing to the room next to the Master’s bedroom. He knocked gently three times. Once Lord Cyclonus gave him the affirmative, he opened the door and stepped inside.

“He sent some petty fodder in our direction.” His Master stated, back turned to Tailgate. The sun disappeared into the horizon and the only light source came from the fireplace, Lord Cyclonus’s shadow enveloping Tailgate in it’s wake. The maid waited patiently before he turned around and stared deep into his visor.

“Protect the estate, Tailgate.”

Tailgate’s visor noticeably dimmed and he gave a small nod. With a swish of a frilly black skirt around white thighs, Tailgate went to his room to get what he needed.

Once he had the handguns from his room wrapped around his waist and the silver sword from the game room slung around his tiny torso, he headed outside and climbed an oak tree. He adjusted his skirt to cover his interface panel and looked at the entrance gate. His stupid pawns always decided to come through the front, thinking that they’d be the ones to overtake Lord Cyclonus’s estate. Not on Tailgate’s watch, not ever. He looked up at the stars.

 “Thank you,” He whispered. This is what he was waiting for. This is what he was to do.

Protect the estate.

Protect those who dwell there.

 _“Be the protector, Tailgate,”_ Lord Cyclonus had said to him that day when the ashes were like snow.

 _“I promise.”_ He had replied.

_Protect the estate._

He saw a green mech swiftly climb the over the gate and opened it.

_Protect those who dwell there._

The maid hopped down from the branch and raised his primary gun.

_Be the protector…_

Energon and metal flew everywhere as the mech’s chest was blown open. The mechs running toward the estate ran all the faster. Tailgate made a certain laugh and ran toward the onslaught of mechs, determination driving his mind.

 

\--

 

A gentle three knocks made Lord Cyclonus look up from the book he was reading in his room.

“Come in, Tailgate.”

The small maid opened the door, holding a tray of tea and a small cupcake from the kitchen. He walked over to the coffee table next to his Master’s lounge chair and set the tray there.

“I see you’ve had a successful night,” the Master said when Tailgate poured the tea and gave it to him.

Tailgate himself was clean but the apron and the skirt were ripped and shredded, almost barely covering the front of his interface panel. The blue satin bow and the blouse was soaked with the energon blood of those he killed. The choker was gone. _That is unnerving,_ thought Lord Cyclonus. He rather liked the accessory on the little maid.

“Did you dispose of the bodies?” He asked after taking a sip of his tea.

“Filled with rocks and thrown down into the sea, as always, Master,” Tailgate said, upbeat. When he didn’t get a retort, his tone became shy. “Would you like me to leave, my Lord?”

 The purple mech finished his tea and set the teacup on the tray. “No. I would very much like you to stay.” He adjusted his position to where his back rested against the curve of the lounge chair, optics speaking in a tone that matched his words. “Come here, Tailgate.”

The maid shivered at the command and stood next to the coffee table, before his Master.

“Sit on my lap.”

Inside his mask, Tailgate blushed furiously. He turned around and sank into Lord Cyclonus’s lap, the slight friction on his aft further deepened the hidden blush. With a small wriggle of his hips, he made himself comfortable and allowed himself to lean back against his Master’s chest.

“You did so well, Tailgate,” The purple mech murmured in his maid’s audio receptor, Arms coming up to wrap around the small blue mech. “For that, you deserve a reward.” Tailgate shivered again and removed his mask, placing it on the tray as his Master’s servo caressed and unbuttoned the vest and blouse, the other snaked around his waist.

“Master,” Tailgate breathed. His visor dimmed in awakening arousal as the servo on his waist drifted in between scratched thighs

“Drop the titles, Tailgate. You know that.” He growled and pinched a wire in Tailgate’s inner thigh, causing the mech to yelp and Cyclonus softly gripped his neck.

“Do you understand?”  He snarled into his audio receptor.

“Y-yes..”  Tailgate moaned out, placing his servos on Cyclonus’ wrists. The servo on his neck traced his collar and the servo at his thigh rubbed his heating interface panel in earnest.

Cyclonus pulled the blue mech’s servos back and trailed a digit down from Tailgate’s lower lip to the waistband of his skirt. He thought about simply ripping the already damaged thing in half but then the small mech would insist on mending the tear and Cyclonus slid the ripped piece of clothing down his legs.

“L—C-Cyclonus…” Tailgate whimpered out as he slid off the stockings and then the unbuttoned top wear, leaving Tailgate only in the thin slip. He became aroused with the action of undressing on Cyclonus’s lap and decided to remove the slip as well. Cyclonus who was still dressed…

The little mech turned himself around in his Master’s lap and wrapped his thighs around the bigger mech’s hips and kissed him gently as he lifted both of his servos and felt around the crisp white collar and started unbuttoning the dress shirt. He opened the shirt to expose Cyclonus’s broad chest and ran his little servos across, making the other growl into the kiss and hold Tailgate’s little aft.

Their kiss suddenly became fierce and Tailgate was eager to slide Cyclonus’s shirt off and produce a playful growl from him. When they pulled back, Tailgate reached down to loosen the pants the older mech was wearing. The said mech decided to help him and stood up, also lifting Tailgate and placing him on his massive berth as he took off his own pants, throwing them on the lounge chair. Tailgate shivered and spread his legs as his lover situated himself between his legs, the now bare friction making the small bot shiver in need.

“Tell me what you need, Tailgate,” Cyclonus whispered into his audio. He shifted his hips ever so slightly and white legs shivered around a grey torso.

“Please, Cyclonus…” He whispered as he felt his interface panel removed and Cyclonus’s face hovered over the area with a pleased grumble. Tailgate suddenly gave a sharp cry when the bigger mech sunk his dentals into his thigh, pain and pleasure mixing into an intoxicating feeling that the bitten mech couldn’t help but cry out for more. Cyclonus bit harder, digits rubbing against the entrance to Tailgate’s valve, energon blood slowly tricking down a shuddering white thigh and onto the sheets. The small mech was heating up faster by the minute, all the pleasure so blissful.

Tailgate’s servos shakily reached down to gently stroke the sides of Cyclonus’s helm and mewled when he pulled back from his thigh which was now bruised and bleeding. Both of them looked down at the mark and Tailgate blushed at it’s meaning.

“Do you want me to please you, Tailgate?” He asked as digits probed to enter yet did not. He reveled in the squirming and the needy mewls from his lover.

“Yes, Cyclonus, stop _teasing_ m—ohh!”

Two digits slowly sank into his warm valve, the stretch feeling simply exquisite added with a light stroke to his spike. Tailgate’s servos flew to cover his mouth when Cyclonus added another two digits and started a slow thrusting pace. His hips jerked as a rather sensitive spot was rubbed against and even his servos couldn’t muffle the loud groan that came from his vocalizer. Cyclonus chuckled and made his ministrations a tad rougher, making it harder for Tailgate to keep quiet. The little minibot’s struggle for silence aroused Cyclonus further, and now he couldn’t wait to get inside that tight little valve.

With these thoughts in mind, he pulled his servos away and licked his stained digits. Tailgate gasped at the loss and bit his lip at the sound of his Master’s interface panel retracting. The purple mech smirked at the wanton form, shivering with anticipation and arousal and slowly covered him with his body.

Two synchronized moans came from both of them as Cyclonus entered Tailgate slowly, waiting for him to adjust. White arms wrapped around Cyclonus’s neck and lips met in feverish need. The bigger mech returned with a long thrust and a stroke down Tailgate’s midsection, loving the hard shudder he brought out before pounding the little maid into the berth. Tailgate pulled away and repeatedly cried out his lover’s name, drinking up every ounce of pleasure that was created with each movement.

“Cyclonus, I-it’s too good…!” Tailgate cried out at a particular thrust that hit _that spot_ deep within his valve. Cyclonus was lost in the pleasure, hips thrusting faster and harder into Tailgate. He growled as he felt them both near the edge and bit into the soft neck cables. This made Tailgate tense and the rush of lubricant was euphoric as he overloaded, the sticky substance all over their stomachs and chests. His visor flared white then faded to blue again. Cyclonus made a deep, guttural noise as he overloaded within the small mech.

They both panted and held onto each other, relishing in the afterglow. Cyclonus slid out of Tailgate, the mixed substances spilling onto the bed. He loomed over the suddenly sleeping mech and debated whether or not to let him sleep here or not.

He quite fancied the small mech but was very much unsure if Tailgate felt the same or if he just enjoyed these little nights of rewards. Both options seemed fine with Cyclonus, just as long as Tailgate remained here with him regardless of nightly intimacies or not. Deciding that the little maid would be more comfortable in his night clothes and his own bed, Cyclonus got up and started to clean himself, Tailgate and the berth as much as he could. Then Lord Cyclonus picked his small maid up, wrapped in a blanket, and walked him to the west wing, where he gently placed him on his bed and placed a small kiss on his offlined visor.


	2. Anixus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait I was wrapped up in school and I didn't have time to sit down and think about what I was going to write sorry if this chapter seems a little choppy. However I am done with school now and now I can really focus on this so I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Warnings- Violence (little bit) and drugs. And a guest star!

Tailgate's visor slowly onlined when the sun had barely started its ascension from the dark horizon. He hummed a little and then yawned with a small squeak. His mind began to slowly uncloud itself from the smoky haze of sleep as he removed the covers. A bite mark on his thigh had darkened considerably, and Tailgate made a small chuckle.

"Mhm. That's right." He murmured after another yawn. He wasn't in his usual nightclothes and his aft was rather sore. Little flashes of memories from the night before flitted through his mind. After a few moments of piecing together and relishing in those memories, he hopped out of bed and started his routine.

Slip. Bow. Skirt. Vest and stockings. Apron and blue bow. He went over to his nightstand and a wash of panic doused him. Choker...

Oh that was very unsettling. Tailgate wrapped his short fingers around his neck and squeezed, trying to copy the same amount of pressure the choker gave him. His throat felt too open, gaping wide, even though his mouth was closed.

"Open your mouth."

The voice rang through his head and he instantly pressed his lips tighter together, like he'd always done. A servo flew to his face. Damn! Were all his essentials just disappearing? He paused and tried to remember. Primus, it was in Lord Cyclonus's room.

The maid shook his head as if the movement could physically shake off the demented memories. He tried thinking of nicer ones. Meeting Rung for the first time. Whirl and Chromedome's debate on the color red. His Master's amused smile when he spilled coffee on his first day. What a wonderful smile he had when it wasn't in its frozen stoic state. Slowly, he dropped his servos at his sides and he allowed himself a smile, looking out into the window.

Still uncomfortable with the lack of the choker, the maid ripped on of the blue satin bows in half and tied it around his neck, making a little bow at the nape.

A once-over in the mirror and the maid began the day in the estate. Tailgate still felt a little off-put, not wearing his mask, but it was nothing compared to the strip of cloth constricting his neck. The little maid walked through the mansion, mind wondering what had happened to his choker.

It was that stupid blue mech from last night. He had reached for Tailgate's katana and in that same second, the maid had pulled the trigger. Within that time, the mech must've ripped the choker off his neck in hopes of dislodging the katana from the minibot's back. He hadn't noticed in in the frenzy of the fight, but he definitely noticed it now.

“Hiya Tail- whoa, where’s the mask?” Swerve greeted him. Tailgate crossed over to start on the coffee.

“Oh! Hah, thanks for reminding me!” Tailgate replied, mentally kicking himself for not coming up with an excuse for the mask. “I’m kind of tired today, I suppose!”

Swerve smiled. “Well, we all get a little tired now and again don’t we?” The maid nodded. “And anyway, today is waffles with a strawberry compote!”

Tailgate’s visor glinted. He loved strawberries. “That’s sounds really good, Swerve! I’m sure the Master would fall head over heels with it!” His olfactory sensors detected the faint scent of the sinful berries. They were on the stove, boiling in sugar. The maid got to work on grinding the coffee and measuring it.

“Nice bow, too. Make you look pretty cute!” The cook stopped stirring the waffle batter. “Err, scrap, I don’t mean it in _that_ way, Tailgate, it was a genuine compliment!” He knew the maid wasn’t often comfortable with compliments as such, which he noticed from a previous guest who’s come to the estate. He’d spent the rest of the guest’s visit in a wary state.

Tailgate laughed, to Swerve’s relief. “It’s okay, Swerve. Thank you!” He turned and smiled— _smiled_ —warmly to the cook. The said mech nodded and went back to stirring. That was too adorable. Then he shook his head as the maid finished placing the percolator on the stove and headed out.

“Nah, I like a different shade of blue,” He murmured to himself and looked to the framed picture of a blue speedster.

Meanwhile, the small maid gently knocked on the his Master’s door thrice. “Lord Cyclonus? May I come in?” When no reply came, Tailgate’s senses come to alertness and the cautiously opened the door.

And there he was.

Arms splayed out, face peaceful, the great Lord Cyclonus was still asleep. Tailgate smiled at the sight. It was so scarce to see his Master in this state. His gaze panned out to search for his mask.

The purple mech turned on his side and made a little huff. Tailgate’s faceplates tinged with pink. That was so… _adorable._ With a glance at the coffee table near the lounge chair, he saw his mask and retrieved it, relieved to have it back in his possession. After he put it on, he went over to pull back the great black curtains to expose the morning sun. Cyclonus was unaffected.

A bit confused, Tailgate approached the bed. “Lord Cyclonus? It’s morning.” There was no indication that the statement was heard.

“Lord Cyclonus.” He said again, sternly. The purple mech rolled over, hugging a pillow and dug his face into it. Tailgate’s mouth curved downward. He reached out to tap his shoulder.

“ _Cyclonus._ ” He called out again with renowned sternness. Two dark red optics flashed open to stare murderously at Tailgate and he made a low growl. Tailgate backed off a little and felt a little frightened.

“U-um, g-good morning, L—Cyclonus,” the maid stuttered. The intensity of those optics made Tailgate want to leave the room and melt into the carpet. He saw the optics’ ferocity slowly dissipate as they drifted to the bow around his neck and back to his visor.

“Swerve is making, waffles with—oh—s-strawberry compote…” His voice trailed off slightly as Cyclonus sat up, shirtless. The said mech stretched out his arms and shuffled out of bed, standing up.

Tailgate’s mind went blank for a second.

“My optics are up here, Tailgate.”

He looked up to see a ghost of a smile on his Lord’s face. “Do you need me to get—“

“No that won’t be necessary, Tailgate,” he said as he went into his closet and took out a dark charcoal suit. “Why do you look like that, it’s not like you have not seen me like this before.”

“Uhm.” Tailgate managed out, caught completely off guard with the comment. Cyclonus didn’t normally sound nearly as playful before. “Y-your schedule is clear for today.”

“Yes, it seems we have already established that,” Cyclonus replied as he pulled up the pants and slid on the dress shirt. The small maid caught that hint of taunt from the other mech. Well!

“Is there anything else you want me to do?

Cyclonus turned to face him as he made an eldritch knot with the red tie. “As long as my schedule remains on hiatus, I’d like everyone to continue keeping me company for breakfast.”

The other mech nodded. “I’ll go tell everyone.” He ducked out of the room. Cyclonus’s optics stared after him and caught sight of the blue bow at the back of Tailgate’s neck. He opened his mouth to speak but remembered that it was a possibility that he must’ve lost it in defending the estate the night prior. He wondered whether or not to buy him a new choker.

As his Master was wondering about his maid’s choker, the blue and white mech dashed about the house, relaying the command from Lord Cyclonus. After returning from the garden, he sat on the stairs, feeling dizzy. He held his head.

 

\--

 

_Rough servos forced the struggling minibot to the ground. Laughter filled his audios as he cried out for help, tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t see a thing, and panic began to arise in his chest as he tried struggling again. A piercing yelp rang out as one of the mech twisted his servo backwards._

_“Where is—ah, thank you,” said a deep voice. Tailpipe dared to look up into menacing blue ones. The mech squatted down and grabbed his chin. The minibot sensed the smirk on the mech’s faceplates._

_“Open your mouth.” He commanded as he took out a small bag._

_“Let me go!” Tailpipe screamed, thrashing as hard as he could but to no avail as the servos gripped him tighter, leaving deep grooves on his protoform._

_“Not a chance. You will carry this package for me, and if you’re lucky, the receiver will let you free,” said the mech, adding pressure on the minibot’s chin._

_“Frag off!” He cried out and spat in the mech’s face. He recoiled and yelled, wiping his face._

_“Get the clamp. Make it hurt.” He growled. Tailpipe heard mechs moving about him in the dark room and his breathing grew more frantic as he heard a small metallic clang. He felt prongs being placed at the side of his mouth and he felt his mouth stretch painfully open. He sobbed ad they continued to stretch his mouth._

_“You’re getting me worked up, looking like that. But business first,” The mech said as the horrid stretch finally stopped but the pain did not. He tasted the plastic on his tongue and began to gag._

_“Try not to scream.” Came the taunt. The he felt the bag slowly enter his mouth…_

\--

Tailgate shook his head violently and felt for his mask, which was thankfully there, thank Primus above. His other servo touched his makeshift choker and he raggedly sighed.

“Hey, Tailgate, are you okay?” Chromedome asked as he walked in. “You look kind of pale.”

The maid shook his head and stood up. “I’m sorry if I scared you, I just got dizzy. Let’s go to breakfast.”

 

\--

 

The telephone rang as Lord Cyclonus and his staff finished breakfast (which, all of them noted, was delightful). Rung excused himself from the table and went to the telephone hanging on the wall.

“Hello?” He answered. “Yes, this is the estate of Lord Cyclonus… Oh? What time…Well that is…” The psychiatrist looked at the phone. “He hung up.”

“Who was it?” asked the Master. The staff caught that small irritated twinge in his voice.

“Mr. Getaway said he was coming at 6 tonight to discuss business with you, Lord Cyclonus,” the orange bot responded. All optics were trained on the purple mech.

His own optics were closed. “I see. Let him come.” He stated simply. After a pause, they opened and made contact with those still at the table.

“What are you still here for? You all know what to do.”

“Yes, Lord Cyclonus!” came the oddly harmonized reply as they all stood up. Chromedome went in the directions of the gardens, Swerve ran into the kitchen, Whirl ran off to straighten up the other rooms and Tailgate began transporting the dirty dishes to the kitchen to be washed.

The Master stood up as well. “Come with me, Rung. I must speak with you.” The psychiatrist nodded and followed the mech up the stairs and into the study. A small maid’s optics trailed after them till they were out of sight.

“What is it you need, Cyclonus?” Rung asked as he closed the doors. The mech dropped title whenever they were alone to ensure the pressures of being the head of the estate did not follow him there.

“Could you call the tailor’s to make something for me?” The purple mech asked.

“Absolutely! What is it?”

“A choker,” he looked at the empty fireplace. “Similar to the one Tailgate wore yesterday. Black band and blue lace.”

The psychiatrist raised an eyebrow. He did not know of Cyclonus’s other _sessions_ with Tailgate, but from that comment alone, he felt a similar vibe. “Is this what I think it is? If so, would you like to—.”

“It’s unnerving to see Tailgate with that bow around his neck.” Cyclonus’s lip twitched but he did not turn.

“And it wasn’t unnerving to see Whirl in that yellow sundress?” Rung challenged. The other turned and narrowed his optics.

“Having something— _anything_ around Tailgate’s neck makes him feel comfortable.” Cyclonus caught his mistake and tried to mend it. “But it doesn’t hurt to make him look presentable.”

The response elicited a short laugh from Rung. “You are quite hellbent on this choker. I’ll order it for you.” He reached over to the telephone then stopped. “Is it an OCD quirk? A childhood memoir?”

The rumble in the purple mech voice and the words that beheld it sent chills down his spinal struts as he began to quietly explain Tailgate’s… more prominent past occupation of many.

Rung felt a pang of sorrow for the minibot. He shook his head as he imagined the horrid events.

“You see my point?” Cyclonus asked. The orange bot nodded. He knew in retrospect it was a way to worm out of a possibly more convincing reason why the choker was more important than the bow, but Rung let it pass. The meaning behind it was far more paramount.

“The pressure constricts his throat for reassurance.” He said. Cyclonus closed his optics and heard Rung pick up the phone and dial the tailor’s.

“Ah, yes! I would like to place an order for a custom choker…”

The taller mech sat at his desk and though not only of his little maid, but the others as well. All were connected by the criminal underworld of Cybertron. His little criminals. The thought made him crack a smile. But it faded as he looked at the large portrait atop the mantel.

_Is this what Galvatron would have wanted?_

 

\--

 

In the parlor, Whirl tried desperately to maintain a grip on his feather duster all to no avail as it uselessly fell to the floor after each try.

“Primus be _fraggin’ damned!_ I miss my servos!” he yelled in frustration. Chromedome came in, holding a rose arrangement.

“Do you need help, Whirl?” he asked as he placed the roses in a gold-painted vase. He picked up the feather duster and looked at the fuming mech. “Does this place honestly need more dusting? You and Tailgate cleaned here yesterday.”

Whirl’s singular optic seemed to perk. “Hey! That’s right!” He smoothed out his skirt. “Screw this! I’ll be in the drawing room!

Chromedome stared after him and placed the duster next to the vase. He went back outside to tend to the vegetable garden. Swerve was there, picking out herbs for dinner.

“Chromedome, lemme just tell you that you grow the best produce and flowers. They’re all perfect!” he chuckled and reached over to pluck a ripe tomato, holding it up. “I mean look at that! Sheer perfection!”

“Thank you very much!” the gardener said with a smile under his mask. He looked over his shoulder to the entrance gate and saw a mech standing there all by his lonesome. Looking harder, he saw the fine clothes the mech was wearing and took a look at his chronometer. Could it be their guest?

“Hey Swerve, tell Tailgate that our guest is here.”

The cook stood up, holding a basket of goods. “On it! Wow, he’s here early.” Once he was in the kitchen, he placed the basket on the center counter and was thankful to still see Tailgate in there, washing the dishes.

“Hey, the guy’s here,” Swerve called out, plucking out a few vegetables from the basket. The maid turned quickly, visor panicked.

“Already?! B-but nothing is ready!” came the nervous reply. This wasn’t good. He looked at the wall. 3:30, it said. The panic arose in his chest. Nothing was cooking. The dishes needed to be cleaned. The table wasn’t set! _He was two and a half hours early!_

“Well are you just gonna stand there or are you going to tell the Master?” urged Swerve as he began laying out kitchen tools. Tailgate nodded and rushed upstairs and knocked on the study door, still with the same gentleness.

“Come in, Tailgate.”

He opened the door and saw Rung on the phone idly tapping his pede whereas Lord Cyclonus was writing in a few books at his desk. “I’m very sorry to disturb both of you but our guest is here.” His voice grew timid as they both looked up at him.

Lord Cyclonus only closed his optics. “Thank you Tailgate. Let him in. Tell him I will meet him soon.” He stood up and looked out the window. The maid nodded and quickly sprinted to the gate. But not before stumbling and nearly falling flat on his face first. The mech had a look of concern.

“Welcome to my Master’s estate! Sorry to keep you waiting!” Tailgate steadied his breathing and made a little curtsy to the mech before opening the gate.

Getaway stepped onto the property. “This place is gorgeous!” He made a wide stretch and looked around. Tailgate’s visor glowed amicably before closing the gate.

“My Master takes a lot of pride in the estate’s gardens,” he said as he led Getaway to the main entrance. “But more pride in the gardener, Chromedome.”

“No kidding,” he replied as his gaze fell on said Chromedome who was watering a young birch sapling. The orange and white mech looked up and waved at him. Getaway nodded back.

Whirl, who was still in the obnoxious yellow dress, opened the huge wooden doors for the maid and the guest. He chuckled. “Heh. Welcome to the estate.” He made a sloppy curtsy. “Hope ya like it here.” Getaway walked into the mansion with Tailgate at his front, who turned to walk backwards and stifled a laugh at the glare the other maid gave their guest.

“Lord Cyclonus said he’d be coming down to meet you very soon,” he informed as Whirl closed the doors and headed to the dining room. “Dinner is being made right now. Would you like a beverage or a snack like tea or…” He faltered at the unblinking stare from Getaway. “Sir?”

“Sorry, just admiring that uniform of yours. Looks really nice on you.” He tapped the top of Tailgate’s head, making the maid flinch. Already, that uncomfortable feeling settled in his tanks. This guest wouldn’t do anything… would he?

Getaway’s optics looked friendly enough. But his body language, the way his servo felt on his head… It felt almost sour. Getaway moved closer, causing Tailgate to take another step back/

“Let’s see what you have under that mask, little maid. Just a peek,” as he reached out, Tailgate’s servos gripped his skirt and he pressed his lips together. He couldn’t hurt the guest, oh no, that would spur on an avalanche of questions, but this… His breathing quickened and he offlined his visor, bracing himself for the unwelcome touch.

"I would advise you not to harass my staff as you prolong your stay here," came a low voice. The maid onlined his visor.

Standing above them was Lord Cyclonus who had his servo tightly gripping Getaway's wrist. The older bots both moved away from Tailgate who let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"My apologies. Just looking at your maid over there. Looks lovely. Strong too." Getaway shrugged as the purple mech released his wrist. Tailgate saw a flash of ferocity in his Master's optics for a split-second.

"I am very sorry but I will not be relieving any of my stuff of duty just yet," Cyclonus rumbled. "Putting that aside please join me in the drawing room. Tailgate please bring some tea up to us."

The little maid nodded. "Will do!" And rushed to the kitchen. He sighed heavily as the door shut behind him.

"You okay?" Asked Swerve who was chopping up tomatoes for a salad. Tailgate looked up at him.

"It wasn't anything really," he quickly debated what to tell Swerve. He filled a copper teapot with water and placed it on the stove on high. "Well the guest was bein' kind of creepy. But Lord Cyclonus intervened.”

Swerve nodded. "You good nonetheless?" The question was laced with noticeable worry.

“Mhm, thanks.” A savory scent caught his attention as he pulled out the jasmine tea from the cupboard. “What’s for dinner?”

Swerve laughed. “Well, I was thinking of making pasta for dinner but then, well, y’know,” he pointed to his cheeks and the other minibot nodded. “So instead of pasta, I decided to roast up some steaks that we kept in the freezer. Gonna be served with some herbs from the garden, add some wild rice to the side and whaddya know! Dinner is served!” The copper teapot squealed.

\--

Lord Cyclonus and Getaway sat on opposing sides of a chess table, optics trained on the pieces but minds on the business talk at hand. Whirl was fiddling around with a finger trap.

“I’d like to invest in some of your weapons, more specifically the daggers and hunting knives.” He moved a black pawn two spaces forward.

“Oh? Why is that?” The purple mech moved a white pawn to free his bishop.

“Well, the manufacturer for my metal merchandise was shut down and I don’t exactly want to see my sales hurt due to the loss of the daggers. Not to mention--.”

Three gentle knocks interrupted him.

“Come in, Tailgate.”

“Sorry for the wait, but I’ve made some jasmine tea,” He placed the tray on a small table next to the door and poured out the tea. The sweet smell lightly permeated the room, giving Whirl the cue to rip his claws out of the trap and place a small folding tray next to the chess game.

“Don’t see whatcha guys see in this game. I think it deserves a better story!” Whirl moved out of the way as Tailgate came over with the teacups, steaming with the floral drink.

Lord Cyclonus blinked once and slowly turned toward the wall. Both maids and the guest looked at him and he turned to Tailgate.

“ _Tueri in rem, Tailgate. Et sunt venit.”_

The maid straightened at the phrases spoken in the Primal Vernacular, the rumbled glyphs chilling his spinal strut.

_Protect the estate, Tailgate. They are coming._

“ _Etiam, Dominus Cyclonus,_ ” Tailgate replied. _Yes, Lord Cyclonus._

Getaway watched the exchange in the ancient language and his gaze followed Tailgate out.

“What was all that about?” he asked.

“Pay him no mind. I merely told him to check over the estate. A minor job.” His optics flickered amusement.

“I see. What language was that?”

“The Primal Vernacular. I try to teach the members of my staff different languages.

Whirl laughed. “Taught me the language of hurt!”

The Master’s optics glowed dangerously. “Watch what you say. Come back when Swerve is done with dinner.”

 

\--

 

Tailgate readied his weapons and jumped down from his window and onto a tree. He looked at the gate and suddenly realized that it was still light out. No matter, he’d just have to make sure this fight was quick and out of the way before anyone saw.

He waited for a few minutes, thinking for a second that Cyclonus’s senses may be failing him. He shook his head. Shouldn’t think about the person who gave him a second chance like that. He knew the distinct feeling those mechs carried, the air carried from a horrid sounding place. The maid had once asked about that place and Cyclonus’s reply still made his armor crawl.

_“It is a place that I don’t want you nor any other Cybertronian on this land to venture to. Do you understand?”_

He spotted something shiny toward the end of the east wing. _Good,_ he thought. _Makes this much easier._ He clambered down the tree and made his way over there. He could see where the land suddenly ended and dropped down to a churning ocean below. He looked around the last tree that would provide him cover before moving forward.

Tailgate stopped abruptly when he saw a tall dark mech standing over a bloodied body. The mech chuckled as the form under his pede writhed, white helm and yellow visor dimmed lowly.

“Chromedome!”      

The orange and white mech tried to stay online as he heard the mechs move quickly and the weight on his chest finally lifted. His helm tilted uselessly to the side and he saw a little blue and white maid holding a sword, fighting with a high level of skill.

His mind fluttered to unconsciousness.


	3. Ruptura

Golden optics struggled to see what was happening, but the pain in his torso blossomed throughout his prone form, his mind wanting to fall into slumber. He saw the flourish of a black lacy skirt that morphed into a dark purple. His mind swirling with questions and pain, Chromedome fell into unconsciousness on the ground.

The tall purple mech lunged at Tailgate and by pure luck, the little maid hopped away. He caught the gardener’s visor offlining. Panic swept through him as he saw the pink lifeblood seep into the ground under his friend. He turned his head as the mech started speaking.

“Is this who the master of the house sends?” the mech laughed and ripped open his shirt. “A minibot playing with bullets and swords?”

Tailgate’s visor dimmed. Others before this one have tried taunting him before, and this would be another one to add tally. His grip tightened on his two hand guns. This was the first time one of his friends have gotten hurt, or was even outside for that matter. This led to many complications, but the maid couldn’t focus on those.

The two stared each other down. The maid just noticed how this mech faintly resembled Cyclonus.

The small hesitation cost him greatly.

The mech ran at him and swatted him into the wall. Tailgate’s breath flew out of him but thankfully he maintained a grip on his guns. He quickly raised them to shoot as the mech ran toward him. The shot tore through his shoulder but did not hinder his advancement. He picked up the small mind and smashed him into the ground, next to Chromedome.

 _Damn,_ Tailgate cursed. _He’s fast._ He heard the mech above him chuckle.

“Cyclonus has become such a coward, hiding behind minibots in skirts,” he taunted again, lifting Tailgate’s chin from off the ground. He made a disgusted face at the cracked visor that leaked thin trails of energon. The mech threw the minibot to the ground, the latter’s vision went black for a second.

“Pathetic defenses,” he kicked Chromedome’s body away, the limp form rolling and stopping dangerously close to the wooden fence that led to the sharp cliff down below. Panic turning to rage, Tailgate clambered up and grabbed one of his guns.

The mech seethed, “Come any closer and he plummets to his death.” Shaking, mind abuzz with what to do and how to do it, Tailgate slowly re-holstered his guns.

“Why are you here?” Tailgate asked, his small voice surprisingly careening a wave of command.

“Simple enough, little mech. We need Cyclonus.” The red optics narrowed as huge wings stripped his shirt off and extended, coating a deadlocked Tailgate in its shadow. The maid’s visor widened. He'd never encountered a mech with flight capabilities, let alone fight one.

“Who are you?” Tailgate asked, both masking the nervousness in his voice as well as the desperation of trying to catch the mech off guard. “What are you?” Thankfully, the mech made a slight movement that distanced his pede from a battered Chromedome.

“There are others like me, little mech,” the offender answered. With a flap of his massive wings, he ascended a few feet up. “I am what my boss calls a Sweep.”

Tailgate’s visor glinted both in acknowledgement and raised his gun and shot at him, running toward the prone gardener. The “Sweep” shouted as a bullet blasted through his left wing, the energon spattering down to the ground below. He swept lowly to grab Tailgate and the last he saw was a glint of blue reflected on a silver blade.

— —

Tailgate rarely used his comm-link, but as he pressed his energon-stained apron into Chromedome’s wound, it was rather needed.

Lord Cyclonus immediately answered the ping, looking away from the chessboard. “Tailgate, what is it?” From the corner of his optic, he could see Getaway giving eye signals to Whirl for help, all to no avail through the shrugging of shoulders.

“Chromedome has been hurt and he needs help now! I’m so sorry Lord Cyclonus.” The voice on the other end was winded and laced with both panic and concern. The Master closed his eyes with a knowing hum and turned back to the chessboard after Getaway made his move. He shifted his bishop to overtake the freshly moved rook. He then shut off the link, turning to Whirl.

“Tell Rung to go to the garden on the east end,” he commanded as Getaway, now frustrated with the game, moved his king forward. It was a useless move, now that Lord Cyclonus had taken away nearly all his pieces except for the king (obviously), a knight and and a few pawns.

  
“Sure thing, Lord Cyclonus!” Whirl replied all too cheerfully. Happily bounding out of the room, the obnoxious yellow dress reflected brightly and then it was significantly dimmer once he was out the door.

Lord Cyclonus moved his bishop to align with Getaway’s black king. “Check.” Getaway frantically overtook the white bishop with his knight, to which the Master returned with his queen taking the knight.

“Checkmate.”

— —

The night went on as planned, however with the absence of Chromedome and Rung, the whole estate seemed almost unnerving. Tailgate shakily laid out the platters of food on the dining table. His tanks groaned at him, empty and hungry. But his mind was full and churning like the ocean low the estate. He failed his code. He wasn’t there to protect Chromedome, to protect one of the estate’s residents. More to the point, he couldn’t protect a friend from getting hurt. A friend he… deeply… cared about. He balled his fists as he walked back to the kitchen to get the teapot.

_This will never happen again, I swear to Primus._

As the two nobles, Swerve, Whirl and finally Tailgate sat down to eat, Rung came downstairs, face calm but servos saying otherwise. Only Lord Cyclonus and Tailgate noticed. The psychiatrist smiled sweetly at the little maid to give him reassurance as he approached the table as if it would gloss over any of the minibot’s fears. The little maid looked over to Lord Cyclonus, who was quietly chewing, looking as calm and stoic as ever. He felt a pang of guilt and anger, but deep inside, he knew that his Master was worried as well. But the anxiety still lingered.

“Feels kinda grim around here, dont’cha think?” Getaway mused and Swerve and Whirl laughed. Tailgate and the others stayed quiet. The maid wanted to tell them to stop laughing, to scream at them to just _shut up!_ But he didn’t want to deny their lighthearted conversation and their unknowingness, and it’s not like the subject would come up lightly either.

Lord Cyclonus noticed the growing anguish of his maid. “Tailgate, if you wish to leave, you may.” The laughter stopped temporarily. The little mech got up shakily. He bowed sightly in acknowledgement of his excuse and went up the stairs. He wondered if he should check on Chromedome. After a pause in the long hallway, he went to Chromedome’s door and knocked lightly.

“Mhm,” came the muffled reply. The minibus opened the door as quietly as he could, as if the lightest sound could suddenly snap the mech inside in half.

“Hi Chromedome,” Tailgate whispered, his voice cracking through shakily. The gardener's torso was tightly bound in bandages, which were faintly tinged in pink. A big white head lolled to the side, golden visor glinting at the sight of the small maid.

“Hey Tailgate,” came the optimistic reply, the baritone of his voice bringing a smile to Tailgate’s hidden face. It was a few levels lighter than Lord Cyclonus’s voice, but it gave Tailgate a sense of calm he’d needed this whole night.

“How are you doing?” the little maid asked, worry obviously in his voice as he got louder. Chromedome grunted as he tried to sit up. “No, don’t!” Tailgate warned. “You’ll make it worse.”

The gardener laid back down with a sigh. The air suddenly grew uneasy, eroding any calmness Tailgate has previously felt before that moment. It was that moment that he knew Chromedome was still conscious within the first few seconds of the fight. Not much happened, but just enough happened in Chromedome’s optics. The thought pained Tailgate as if he were the one being pierced through the spark with a blade.

The glowing golden visor met a dim blue one. Tailgate knew immediately what he was going to say.

“Tailgate, I want to know the truth. I know Rung lied to me.”

The sternness of his voice made Tailgate wince. If he told the truth, what would be the consequences? _Would Lord Cyclonus allow it?_ Anxiety gripped his spark. Truth or lie would inevitably hurt Chromedome. He never wanted to see that sad glint of depression he unwillingly adorned when he first came to the estate. It took quite a while before Chromedome finally started to let go of his past, piece by piece, seed by seed until he became the mech he was today. The mech Tailgate cared for the most, other than Lord Cyclonus.

He deserved to know.

He decided to take small steps. “Well, I…” The confidence was low and Tailgate felt even smaller with each word. “What did Rung tell you?”

“Told me I was attacked by some animal and that you found me.” Tailgate could feel him squinting. “I know what an animal attack looks like, Tailgate. I’m not stupid.”

The last comment made the other’s lip curl downward. At this point it was truth or lie.

“You were attacked by another Cybertronian.”

“And?”

Tailgate’s voice shook. “And I had to kill him. Because…” He tried to suck down air, trying to drown out his onslaught of emotions. “Because it’s my duty to the estate and Lord Cyclonus. And I failed the…” The little maid trailed off and he knew it was a mistake. What he told Chromedome was more than enough. _Stupid, stupid idiotic maid!_ Tailgate mentally kicked himself.

“Failed what?” The look the took over Chromedome’s visor suddenly made Tailgate aware of how potentially dangerous Chromedome could be. He became fearful of his friend. But why? He knew that he was angry and definitely feeling betrayed. And if he told the gardener the code, how much worse would he feel? Tailgate visibly shied away and shook his head. He couldn’t.

“Tailgate, please. Just tell me.” The gardener pleaded, the harsh look in his visor softening. The maid shook his head and stood up.

“I’m sorry, Chromedome.” Tailgate began to back out of the room.

“Wait…” Chromedome tried again, but at that point Tailgate had already slipped out of the room. He felt hopelessly confused. But some thing about the small mech suddenly began to become clearer, however that arose a great many more questions. Chromedome looked at the ceiling and thought. He knew he saw the mech who injured him, he was inspecting one of the trees when he was slashed in the abdomen. The mech was nearly his own size, double Tailgate’s height.

 _And that little maid took him down?_ It would confirm the blurry memory he had before blacking out. What it also confirmed was Tailgate’s background. Everyone at the estate knew that each of them came from some sort of criminal background, but most refrained from bringing it up.

Was Tailgate some sort of previous mercenary? _What did he do? What did he fail? Was he supposed to be some sort of guardian of the esta— no, Lord Cyclonus?_ Chromedome’s thoughts became muddled and slurred together as slumber gradually claimed him.

— —

Toward midnight, long after their guest had gone, Lord Cyclonus sauntered up to his room. Sitting in his lounge chair, he knew Tailgate had already retreated into his own room. He sat back, listening to the muffled whispers of the ocean.

He closed his optics, deep in thought. Tailgate should be well asleep by now. As he should be, the Master thought. It had been a long day. There was no need for Tailgate to remain awake.

“ _Tailgate,_ ” he intoned. The name rolled off his glossa almost playfully like the mech himself. Two knocks broke him from his concentration.

“Yes, Rung?”

The orange mech let himself in, adjusting his glasses before closing the door. Lord Cyclonus looked at him, expression unchanging.

“How is he?”

“In terms of physical wounds, he needs much more professional help. I’ve called the doctor from town. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. Other than that, Chromedome seems more irked than anything.”

“Irked?”

“He keeps mumbling about Tailgate.” Rung’s glasses caught the moonlight at the right angle, the brightness crossing the room theatrically. “I believe he saw.”

Lord Cyclonus tilted his head up and met Rung’s optics. “What do you think?” The orange mech asked. “Should we tell him or…?”

The purple mech’s optic ridge arched. “Tailgate seems to harbor feelings for Chromedome, let us take that into account.” His jaw clenched, duly noticed by Rung, and he continued speaking. “If we allow Chromedome to know, he could either derail Tailgate from his duty or in battle, or he leaves.” Rung nodded, listening intently.

“I am only concerned with Tailgate’s performance. I only want him focusing on the greater task at hand and we cannot afford any more hindrances like affection.”

The last statements surprised Rung. It was as if he wanted Tailgate to act alone, Why? What was his endgame? The psychiatrist made suspicions. Was Cyclonus envious of Tailgate’s affections for Chromedome or did he simply relish in seeing Tailgate fight alone? He had partial reason to believe that emotions played a good role in his decision. Rung was curious, now tingling to analyze the purple mech.

“Do you fancy Tailgate?”

This caught Cyclonus off-guard with a slight widening of the optics. “Hm?” Aha.

“You know exactly what I mean. Your stoicism is wearing off with the little quirks and reactions.”

The other’s voice muttered. “Care to explain?”

Rung didn’t feel like holding back. He had to know exactly why Cyclonus specifically picked Tailgate when all the others had the same amount of skill to work alongside him. Then he stopped. This was why Cyclonus didn’t want Chromedome to know. The worry would overtake him and would push either the gardener or Tailgate to make rash decisions. There was always a faulty side in group work, and it would destroy Tailgate.

So he shook his head. “No, never mind. I’m sorry I brought it up.” The Master looked at the psychiatrist with a knowing gaze. Behind his glasses, Rung narrowed his optics, albeit in a friendly way. His mind drifted to poor Chromedome and the panicked state tailgate left him in.

Before he could say another word, Cyclonus stood up and said, “I’m going to sleep now.” Rung nodded, feeling the fatigue as well and bid his friend good night, slipping out of the room. Before getting into his bed, he looked out the window.

“ _Venite, tua maxima._ ” He said in the Primal Vernacular. _Come, do your worst._ He slid into bed with one word in mind:

_Defend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. AM. SO. SORRY. It's been bloody forever! I've had this chapter written since September, but I never got around to edit it and whatnot and it has been a very busy few months for me. Hopefully I can get the next chapter written soon!


End file.
